


Confessions

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... Is this the right moment for Will to come clean about his involvement in Croatia?  (Works on the assumption that the scene in Seattle never took place...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> \- Narrated by Will & self beta'd.
> 
> \- Just another ficlet from my personal challenge to give 'short' a go. (Given that I'm 17,000 words into something new though, I think it might be fair to say I'm over that particular challenge...)
> 
> \- Hope you enjoy!

==========  
Confessions  
by TalithaX  
==========

*

Do I tell him?

… How do I tell him?

That I'm responsible.

I could have warned him.

I... should... have warned him.

But I didn't.

And she died.

*

Sighing, I sit up a little straighter against the mound of pillows at my back and try, for what truly feels like the umpteenth time, to read the opening sentence of the Jack Reacher novel in my hands. It's not that it's a difficult sentence to comprehend, or even that it's poorly punctuated or particularly wordy. Nor is it – for a somewhat nice change – because I'm suffering from either a headache, eye-strain or concussion. My health is fine, the light is surprisingly good for such a below-average motel room and, let's face it, it's not as though the book I'm struggling to read here is James Joyce's Ulysses. 

I should be able to read. The book is a 'no brainer' and I'm comfortable. In fact, given that I've been staring at the sentence for close to thirty minutes now, I should be well and truly engrossed in the written word and lost in Reacher's world instead of lying here on the bed feeling as though – this is it – the walls are slowly closing in on me. 

I don't want to be here.

Dear God. I... really... don't want to be here. Not stuck, effectively trapped in this tired little motel room with Ethan. Alone together for the first time since I joined the team three months ago and knowing that... something has got to give. 

I need to tell him.

I... have... to tell him.

Only... 

How do I tell him?

Not only that, but how do I... justify... the delay in telling him?

I've missed – or, alternatively, and perhaps far more to the point, avoided – so many opportunities that the hole I've very carefully dug for myself is now threatening to swallow me whole.

I should have told him in Dubai after, solely in the name of self-preservation, I let it slip that I wasn't just a pencil-pushing analyst. One secret having already inadvertently slipped out, I should have embraced the moment and come clean to Ethan then and there. As cathartic as it might have been telling Jane and Benji, I shouldn't have stopped there and I should have cornered Ethan on the plane to Mumbai instead of concentrating on the insanity of just what it was Benji was proposing I do once we were on the ground and focussing solely on that.

Dubai. Mumbai. The seven weeks it took for both Ethan and Jane to heal from their injuries sustained in taking out Cobalt. That dreadful moment when, having already accepted the Acting Secretary's offer to return to field work, I walked into the team meeting and discovered that, without knowing it, I'd agreed to join Ethan's team. I was early, he was on his own in the room, and I should have – if only I had – bitten the bullet right then and there and told him that it was a mistake, that he didn't want me on his team because...

If he knew the truth, he'd hate me.

We were alone, I could have put an end to the mess before it truly started, only...

I didn't.

I shook off my – dismay – shock, told myself that I'd tell him later, and simply greeted Ethan like a long lost friend. Ironically, and this just makes everything that little bit more fucked, part of me... was... actually pleased to see him. God knows I shouldn't, that it's only going to make the inevitable... destruction... even worse when it finally happens, but I like Ethan. I shouldn't, but I do. I admire him and, if I didn't have the dreadful truth forever hanging over my head, it would actually be something of an honour being on his team. He's brilliant, a truly amazing agent and, at the risk of owning up to a streak of masochism, I actually enjoy being in his company.

Hating myself enough as it is, I don't want Ethan to hate me too, but at the same time I know I can't go on this way. I spend so much time trying to avoid being alone with him and watching what I say around him that I'm just constantly on edge. The timing, or so I've turned telling myself into a fine art form, is never right to come clean. Ethan's either under too much pressure, or the mission is of far greater importance, or I don't want to upset the status quo of the team, or... Any excuse will do. I look at Ethan and, unable to decide between the benefits of just confessing and being done with it versus trying to make the most of being a part of the team for as long as I possibly can, I just... clam up.

He deserves the truth though.

Just as I deserve his hatred.

Is tonight the night?

The mission, thanks to the unexpected arrival in town of a mark we've both met before and who could blow our cover, for Ethan and I at least, is over. We're stuck, as in literally, here together in this room until Turner's team arrives and takes over both the role of surveillance from Jane and Benji and the completion of the mission. The ensuing... disintegration... won't impact on an active mission and, if need be, I can always pull on a mask and slink off back to D.C. before the others return to the motel.

I can't avoid it forever.

This is as good as it's going to get.

And... Again. Dear God. I really don't want to be here.

I especially don't want to be here now that Ethan's finally exited the bathroom after having had a shower and is pacing around the room like a caged tiger. He doesn't cope well with inactivity and this, knowing that he's trapped here with nowhere to go and nothing to do, is going to do his head in. Our relationship being based on a lie that I've been going out of my way to both enforce and perpetuate, we don't, have never really, talk. Not of anything of consequence at any rate. Nor have we ever been alone without a task at hand to focus on.

Ethan's twitchy because he's bored. I'm twitchy because I think this just has to be it, that the time has come for me to man up and get what I should have done on that train in Moscow over and done with.

Now...

… Or never.

Right?

My mouth dry, I lower my book and watch Ethan as, with a sigh, he flops down in one of the room's two decrepit looking armchairs and gazes over at me with a mournful expression on his face.

“Bored,” he announces, spreading his legs wide and resting his hands limply on his thighs as he tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling.

“I...” Okay. This is it. I'm going to – jump – do it. “Ethan, I...”

“I'm also, if you can believe it given our hardly... palatial... lodgings,” he states, calmly talking over the top of me as he lowers his head and fixes me with an unreadable look, “horny. Five star accommodation last night and... nothing. Half a star, at best, here however and I feel ready to go.” Pausing, he looks me in the eye and winks. “I'm thinking it must just be you, then...”

“Oh.” Slightly taken aback by Ethan incredibly random statement, I blink at him owlishly and, as the book slips from my hands, struggle to know what to say. Here I am wanting to confess my sins, and there he is wanting... to do what exactly, I honestly don't know. Fuck with my head? We've never had a conversation about anything other than work, yet he's now wanting to indulge in, I suppose you'd call it, macho, manly type banter? “I...” Retrieving the book from the mattress, I fuss over smoothing the cover closed and, knowing that I have to say... something, murmur, “Uh... If you'd like the room to yourself and some privacy I can always take my book into the bathroom...”

“Really? That's the best you can offer?” Sighing, Ethan leans forward and, with a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips, calmly stares at me until I feel as though I'm left with no choice other than to reluctantly meet his searing gaze. “So much for hoping, then, that you were wanting to live up to your unofficial status of team... helper.”

“Oh... Oh!” Although it takes a second too long, I eventually read between the lines of Ethan's response and, Goddamn it, can immediately feel myself blushing. He wants me? He wants me to...? Either way... Fuck. Just where on earth did that come from? I know he swings both ways. And, yes, on a few nights when I've been feeling particularly masochistic I... have... gone there and imagined, with no small degree of longing, what his hands would feel like on my body. But...

Again, fuck... I seriously don't know what's going on here.

The book once again falling from my hands onto the mattress, I lower my gaze and, although I open my mouth in anticipation of saying something, hell, anything would do, nothing comes out.

Laughing, Ethan shakes his head and leans back more comfortably in the chair. “Cat got your tongue, huh?” he murmurs, the obvious merriment he's feeling at my expense not exactly helping my confused mood any. “I thought I'd caught you checking out men before, but, hey, if your tastes don't travel down this path then just forget I ever said anything.”

“It... It's not that,” I blurt out as, still clearly amused at my flustered behaviour, Ethan raises an eyebrow and laughs again.

“In that case, it must just be me,” he states wryly. “It's okay, Brandt, you can stop looking so worried. I will survive, you know...”

“I...” Making a snap, even if it does end up proving to be one of the stupidest I've ever made, decision, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand up. I don't know, call it my own, warped, version of an act of contrition, but if he wants me he can have me. Given that I know I still have to come clean about Croatia, it's not as though, when all is said and done, effectively whoring myself to him will further lower his opinion of me any. Besides, it's not as if I haven't made a habit of doing everything he's told me to do since joining the team anyway. From taking on the craziest, most dangerous aspect of the mission to getting him coffee or collecting his laundry, if Ethan tells me do it then I just do it. I'm not submissive by nature, and logic tells me that ultimately it's not going to make any difference when he learns of how badly I've failed him, but it's like I've been working on the theory that if I'm... useful... to him he'll, when the time comes, not completely regret ever having known me.

So...

I like Ethan. I like men. I like sex. And... I can do this. Who knows, maybe prostrating myself at his feet is where I truly belong anyway.

Walking over to where Ethan's still sitting in the armchair, I kneel down in front of his spread legs and, with my heart beating dully in my chest, give a small shrug. “Which end?”

“Which end?” Ethan repeats, his amused expression of only a moment ago giving way to a doubt-tinged frown. “Look, don't think you have...”

“I wouldn't have put myself in this position if I wasn't willing to see it through,” I interrupt with another small shrug. Having started down this path I'm going, regardless of where it may take me, to see it through. Maybe, if I'm lucky, if I prove myself to be good enough, Ethan may even be able to keep one fond memory of me. “So... What would you best like? Mouth, or would you prefer I strip off and turn around?”

“And to think there are those who think romance is dead,” Ethan mutters drily as, closing his legs, he gives me an odd look. “Brandt, seriously...”

“But this isn't about romance,” I murmur, loosening my tie as I lick my dry lips and, feeling quite unable to look Ethan in the eye, stare down at the dirty, stained carpet. “It's about you wanting... release... and my offer of... assistance.”

Sighing, Ethan stands up before crouching down in front of me and gently cupping my jaw and cheek in the palm of his hand. “When you put it like that it certainly... isn't... about romance,” he replies, applying just enough pressure on my jaw to leave me with little option but to tilt my head back and look over at him. “But nor is it about... punishment...”

More confused than ever in respect to just whatever it is that's going on here, I pull back from Ethan's touch and slowly shake my head. “I'm here and I'm... offering,” I state in a shaky sounding voice. “So... Pick an end. If it helps, I truly don't care and you can do what you want to me.”

“And that,” Ethan replies with another, far louder this time, sigh, “is sadly what I was afraid of...” Trailing off, he stretches his hand out and lightly strokes his finger along the corner of my lip. “Mouth... I want your mouth,” he adds softly, “but not, even though I can't deny the offer is a very tempting one and that I may even in time regret my... noble... decision, in the way I've been leading you to believe. What I want, Will, is for you to talk to me...”

Will. He actually, for the very first time, used my name instead of just calling me Brandt.

Why?

And why is it that I suddenly feel as though I'm being played, that... I'm not the one in control here at all?

Slumping back on my heels, I shrug and echo Ethan's loud, heartfelt sigh. “At the risk of sounding as though I'm talking up my skills,” I mutter, “take my advice and stick to your original plan of wanting to... fool around. Just... Seriously, Ethan, you... You don't want to talk to me because... uh... you're not going to like what I have to say.”

“You don't know that.” Standing up, Ethan holds his hand out to me and waits for me to take it. “Come on, Will. Get up from the floor and talk to me.”

“No.” It being the one thing I currently feel confident of doing, I shake my head again and ignore Ethan's proffered hand. “I... I belong down here.”

“At my feet?” Ethan queries dubiously as, getting the hint, he drops his hand to his side.

“Yes,” I whisper with, just for something different, a nod. “I belong down here, at your feet.”

“Masochist, or Catholic?”

“The latter, once upon a very long time ago.”

“Then say a few Hail Marys or whatever it is that's meant to cure all your sins and get to your feet.”

“It's not... God... I need to beg for absolution from.” Glancing up at Ethan as he looks down at me with what I'm dismayed to see is a worried expression on his face, I meet his concerned gaze and somehow manage to dredge up a wan smile. “Please, Ethan... Just let me...”

Crouching back down in front of me, Ethan gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and, because it's clearly the night for it, sighs. “If you're thinking it's me you need to seek absolution from, you're wrong,” he states matter-of-factly. “I'd hoped this would have been enough for you to speak up, Will, but as it's clear you've backed yourself so far into a corner that you'd rather do just about anything but...” Pausing, he shifts into a kneeling position and closes his hand around my upper arm. “I know,” he adds. “I know about Croatia...”

And...

Okay.

So this is what it feels like to have your carefully constructed world come crashing down around you.

Shocked. Sick to the stomach. Breathless. Light headed. Embarrassed, both at your open-mouth, deer-in-the-headlights behaviour... and... at the fact that, there being no two ways of looking at it, you only have yourself to blame.

“Huh? Oh God... How? I... Shit. Sorry! Ethan, I...” My addled brain finally accepting that babbling isn't going to achieve a damn thing, I take a deep, not particularly calming breath and slowly, with forced control, pull my arm free of Ethan's grasp. “How? Was it Benji? Jane made him promise to keep his mouth shut, that... uh... it was something I had to do, but...”

“It wasn't Benji,” Ethan interrupts as, to my great annoyance, he – doesn't get the hint that I'm not feeling overly touchy-feely at the moment – returns his hand to my arm. “In fact, I didn't know the others even knew.”

“I...” Great. This is just going to get worse before it has any hope of getting better, isn't it...

Jerking my arm away from Ethan, I stumble to my feet and, not knowing where else to go, sink down on to the edge of the bed. “Dubai,” I mumble, burying my head in my hands in preference to looking at Ethan. “I told them in Dubai after you'd gone to meet your connection. I should have... I know I should have told you as well, but... How?” It's not going to change anything. Nor is it probably going to help anything, but, I have to know. “How do you know?”

“I read your file,” Ethan states with an almost, to me anyway, stunning degree of simplicity. “I pulled it while my knee was still healing after Mumbai and read it then.”

And... Just like that. He read my file. Of course he did. He read my damn file that, despite all the thought and angst I've put into choosing the timing of my confession to perfection, I hadn't even taken into fucking consideration.

Seriously, how Goddamn stupid am I?

“Oh...” Digging my elbows into my thighs, I rub my hands over my face and stare down at my knees. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, because, really, what else am I going to say? I can't, regardless of how much I might like to, bluff my way out of the moment and just have to follow it through to wherever it may lead me. “I'm sorry for... everything. For... failing so horribly in Croatia and being responsible for the death of your wife, for... both lying and hiding from you these past five months, and... and just for letting you down. I know it's probably not even worth the breath I'm wasting on it, but, Ethan, please... You've got to believe me in that I'm so terribly sorry for, again, everything, just... everything.”

“You're being far too harsh on yourself,” Ethan murmurs as he comes over to stand in front me. “Come on, Will. Look at me. You haven't let me down at...”

“How can you say that?” I demand, dropping my hands away from my face and, feeling as though I... deserve... to see the expression of disgust I just know he has to be wearing, gazing up at Ethan. To my surprise his facial expression is more neutral, if not even possibly concerned, than disgusted and this, for some reason, only succeeds in putting me more on edge. Why is he looking at me like that when he has to hate me? He just... has to. “Ethan... Your wife. I... I'm responsible for her death. I knew that the hit squad had arrived in town and I... I should have warned you, but... But I didn't and...”

“She's still alive,” Ethan declares with a soft, sad smile as, after a moment's hesitation, he takes a seat on the mattress next to me.

The wind being well and truly knocked out of my sails at Ethan's astonishing statement, I gape at him and, as I'm slowly becoming used to, don't know what to say. “But... I...”

“Did you see the body?”

“Not personally, but...”

“Believe me, Will. She's still alive.”

“But...” Numbly, I shake my head and clench my fingers into the fabric of my trousers. She can't still be alive. Everything I've done since Croatia has been based on the belief, the... acceptance... of my complete and utter failure. If she's alive though...

“It was all rouse, a... slight of hand that was part of a bigger plan,” Ethan explains quietly. “We'd fallen out of love and, a divorce never going to be enough protection from ever having known both me and... the world I live in, she needed to disappear and...” Trailing off, he shrugs and swivels around to better face me. “How better to disappear once and for all than to be thought dead?”

“But...” I'm glad she's alive. Everything else aside, knowing that she's still alive is the best news I've heard in a long time, but... The self-doubt and depression, along with leaving field work to become an analyst, it... It was all based on a lie? “Why... Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were in Croatia?” Ethan counters with a reassuring lack of either malice or disappointment. “Until now, courtesy of the Secretary's death in Moscow, I was the only person who knew. I'm only telling you now, and I know I don't have to say that you're not to tell anyone, that her new life in Toronto has to remain a closely guarded secret, because I want you to know that... you didn't fail and subsequently don't have to hide from me.”

Placing my hands flat on the mattress, I lean back and gaze up at the ceiling. It's, for the want of a better description, funny, but I honestly feel as though an incredible weight has been magically lifted from my shoulders. She's still alive. I'm not responsible for the death of an innocent woman and... just knowing it feels good. Granted, it doesn't alter the fact I've been... hiding... from Ethan, and that I still may have caused irreparable damage to our professional relationship, but... maybe that can still be worked on. Lying, of course, is bad, but on the other hand, surely it has to be better than being responsible for the death of his wife. So... Who knows, maybe this isn't going to prove to be as bad as I've always thought it would.

“I'm sorry to hear that you're divorced,” I murmur, “but, oh God, Ethan, you have no idea how relieved I am to learn she's still alive. It... It just changes everything.”

“You're not pissed to discover that everything you've done since Croatia has been based on a lie?” Ethan queries as, clearly unable to help himself, he rests his hand lightly on my thigh. “If it helps, and it probably doesn't, I never knew who the team was who'd been sent in to bear witness. It was just meant to be a stock standard assignment, no-one was ever meant to...”

“Have a melt down?” I finish, sitting back up straight and, because it suddenly feels like the right thing to do, placing my hand over Ethan's. “I'm... taken aback, of course, but knowing that she's still alive means so much to me that... Nothing else really matters. Once I'd gotten my head around it I enjoyed my time as an analyst and...well... everyone has their dark days, don't they...”

“Our carefully constructed plan fucked with your life when... it shouldn't have.”

“It probably shouldn't have, but... I let it and... it's history. I'm still here and... the past is just that, past.”

“You know,” Ethan murmurs, squeezing my knee, “you're actually taking this a lot better than I expected you to.”

“Life's full of hurdles and... this has just been one of them,” I reply, shrugging. “The same, mind you, can be said for you, Ethan. You've known what I've been hiding from you for months now, yet... you've let me go and, I suppose you could even say, stood by me. Why? I haven't been entirely honest with you and...”

“And, again, that makes two of us,” Ethan interrupts. “I haven't been honest with you either, Will, but in my defence it was because I wanted... no, make that needed... to see both how far you'd go and what sort of person you are. I don't, I suspect, need to tell you that IMF is my life and that being team leader isn't a responsibility I take lightly. While reading your file didn't alter my desire to get you on my team, what it did do was raise the flag that I'd need to... test you in order to work out where we stood with each other and whether I could truly trust you.”

Seeing the logic in Ethan's response, I nod and choke back a sigh. “You were testing me and I was dutifully doing everything you told me in the hope of both proving my... worthiness... at being back out in the field and... giving you a reason to hopefully not... hate my guts when I finally found the courage to come clean...” Trailing off, I glance at Ethan and flash him a weak smile. “I'm still sorry, you know. Not so much for the hole I've dug for myself, but for not being honest with you. While your reasons were for the benefit of the team, mine were purely selfish and... I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too,” Ethan replies, turning his hand over and, to my decided delight, entwining our fingers. “While, yes, my reasons were sound, I didn't know you were... taking it as badly... as you were and I know now that I should have done this, should have forced your hand, earlier, because... You're a good agent, Will, and I not only want you on my team, but I also want you to know that you're an integral part of it and that you... belong here...”

“I...” The absurdity of the entire situation getting to me, I smile and can't help but laugh. “You know something,” I grin, “I'm getting the impression here that we make something of a pretty good, albeit somewhat fucked up, pair. That or, there's just no help for it, we deserve each other.”

“I can live with that,” Ethan responds as, with one final squeeze of my hand, he stands up and stretches. “Oh... And you should do that more often.”

“Do what?” I query, surprised at how much I instantly miss the feel of Ethan's hand in mine.

“Smile,” he states with a natural, happy smile of his own. “While it's not something I've seen much of these past few months, I think I could easily get used to it.”

“Well, seeing as I'm feeling better than I have for quite a while,” I murmur, watching Ethan as he returns to the armchair and settles himself down into it, “I'll see what I can do.”

“Glad to hear it,” he replies, looking across at me and rolling his eyes. “Now... As relieved as I am that we've finally cleared the air between us, can you believe that I'm already back to feeling bored?”

Cocking my head to the side, I hold Ethan's gaze and shrug. “Knowing your attention span, oddly enough, I... can... believe it.”

His, now ex, wife is still alive, he doesn't hate me and wants me to smile more, so... Is it wrong of me to be hoping for a return to our earlier... set up? Again, if he wants me he can most definitely have me. In fact, I really, really hope he does want me because God knows, now even more so than before, I want him.

“So...” Smirking, Ethan mirrors my shrug and drums his fingers against his thigh. “Does the... designated... team helper... have any suggestions?” he murmurs coyly.

“As I was just planning to read my book, no, not really,” I retort, affecting an innocent expression and mentally crossing my fingers that I'm reading the signs correctly and that, yes, I'm still in with a chance here. “I don't know... How about watching some TV?”

Pouting, Ethan shakes his head and slumps back in his chair. “If that's as good as you've got to offer,” he mutters, “this is going to be a long night.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're likely to be suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder?” I respond, eyeing Ethan off as a random, although quite appealing, idea suddenly pops into my head. “But... Fine. Because I feel sorry for you and know that I've got a deck in my bag, how about we have a game or two of cards?”

“Poker?” Clearly brightening at my suggestion, Ethan leans forward and nods. “I could live with that.”

“Strip,” I clarify with a grin as I stand up and go over to my bag. 

“Strip poker?”

“Uh-huh.” Retrieving the cards, I hold the box up so Ethan can see it and laugh at the expression of slow dawning realisation on his face. Okay, so he's freshly showered and only wearing jeans and a t-shirt while the only thing I'm missing from the suit I've been wearing all day is my jacket, but... So what if I have an unfair advantage, huh? I am, after all, offering him a way to alleviate his boredom when I could just as easily be settled back down with my book. “What? Don't tell me watching television is suddenly looking good to you?”

“You wish.” Standing up, Ethan shifts over to the room's small table and chairs and takes a seat in the one closest to the window. “So... Is there a prize for the winner other than simple satisfaction?”

“Apart from the visual pleasure, you mean?” I smirk, placing the cards on the table and making a point of looking Ethan up and down.

“Mmm... I was thinking perhaps of...” Returning my smirk, he also follows suit by looking me up and down and then even has the nerve to wink at me. “Maybe the winner could... pick an end?”

Groaning, I sink down in the chair and roll my eyes. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Well, it was very... blunt.”

It was, I'll give him that, but... “It covered what I wanted it to, didn't it?”

“It did,” Ethan confirms as he picks the cards up and begins to shuffle them. “Now... What do you say about...”

Leaning across the table, I grab his wrist and, everything looking so very much brighter than it did only thirty or so minutes ago, smile. “The winner,” I murmur, “gets both... ends, along with everything else in-between.”

“Everything else in-between, huh?” Ethan repeats, giving me a knowing, possibly even cunning look. “And... The loser, he's the one to be the recipient of this... attention, right?”

Nodding, I stroke my finger along the underside of his wrist and broaden my smile. “Right,” I confirm. “The winner gets carte blanche... access... to the loser's body. If, however, you have... issues... with my proposition, then...”

“If I had any issues it would be in regards to why we're still talking about it instead of playing the damn game already and getting it out of the way,” Ethan states, cutting me off as, suddenly, his expression turns serious and he puts the cards down in order to clasp his hands around mine. “Actually, Will... There is something I want to know, and that's... Is this what you truly want? The reason I put you on the spot earlier was in order to attempt to force your hand, not to... force... you into doing anything else. If it helps, I want to, I... want you, not just because it's a way to kill time or because it's... a means to an end, but because there's something about you, something that's... called to me... since the very first time I met you in that car in Moscow, but... Please, listen to me. You don't have to...”

“I like you, Ethan,” I interrupt plainly as I meet his gaze across the table. Secrets clearly not having worked between us, he can now have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the damn truth. From now, in fact, until the end of all time as I like where all of this seems to be heading. “Even when I was just waiting for the day for you to hate me I still couldn't help but like you, and, as for earlier... I went along with it because the idea of... fooling around... wasn't without a certain appeal. Now... I make the offer freely and want to do this, not because I'm still feeling as though I have to atone or anything like that, but because I want to, because I want... you.”

Looking relieved, Ethan gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it and picking up the deck of cars. “In that case, as I don't think I've ever looked quite so forward to losing before,” he murmurs, grinning, “let's play.”

~ end ~


End file.
